


give yourself a try

by markohmark



Series: asian american extracurricular activities [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Long-Distance Friendship, M/M, Pining, Sicheng-centric, he's kinda nerdy here idk maybe not, senior year of high school you feel?, set in the US
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markohmark/pseuds/markohmark
Summary: At what point did he grow taller than his mother? Sicheng can’t remember, just as he can’t pinpoint all the other changes in his life, from the dropping of his voice to the conflicted way he feels about Yuta to the new-found American accent he has while speaking English. He can only tell things have changed when he notices what has gone, what used to be.(or, sicheng struggles with love and life while applying for college)





	give yourself a try

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gabilliam (vvhymack)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vvhymack/gifts).



> i kinda wrote most of it in one day so oops
> 
> this was inspired by [this photo](https://cdn.artofproblemsolving.com/images/b/0/0/b00a08de18e9a132b9eb4499a65e04576e746edd.jpg) and my friend's experiences during senior year. to all the people out there going through college apps--you can do it!!! 
> 
> this is also a gift to one of my favorite yuwin authors on twitter <3
> 
> title from [the 1975 song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZH19HjSCSoA) of the same name

“Come on, you’ve got this,” Yuta says. His voice comes out slightly muffled. He sounds tired, a little sick, but the sound of his voice still brings a well-worn sense of comfort to Sicheng.

Sicheng sighs. His hands tremble as he opens up the Princeton application portal, unable to keep a grip on his phone and scroll through his Mac at the same time.

“I’m putting you on speaker, okay?” Sicheng says, setting the phone down next to his computer. He glances down at the contact picture he’s set for Yuta—taken last summer, back when his hair was a bit longer, Yuta throwing an arm around Sicheng’s shoulder and holding up his other hand in a peace sign. Just looking at it gives him a bit of residual comfort. “It’s difficult to do two things at once.”

“Why don’t you just VC?” Yuta whines. He’s stopped chewing at least. Sicheng can just imagine his face, pouting slightly at his phone. “You could do split screen, you know. I haven’t seen you since August.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sicheng replies absentmindedly. “Your resting bitch face would make me more nervous than I am already.” He ignores Yuta’s protests as he logs onto his account. It’s still 6:58 pm, but he’s anxious. The truth is, he doesn’t want to video-call Yuta in case he starts crying.

“There’s still a minute, right?” Yuta asks. He sounds excited, more excited than Sicheng, at least—he’s always thought Sicheng could hang the moon on the stars or however that saying goes. Sicheng’s realistic—he knows Princeton isn’t a long shot for someone like him, but it’s ambitious, maybe, for an Asian STEM-oriented boy straight out of China. But, well, fuck that. He’s in his favorite place—his room—on his favorite piece of furniture—his bed—on the phone with his favorite person—Yuta—and nothing else can get to him.

Sicheng hums in reply and hits refresh as soon as the time hits 7:00 pm. There it is, right in front of him:

**VIEW ADMISSIONS STATUS UPDATE**

“I’m opening it right now,” Sicheng informs Yuta. There’s no response besides the sound of him breathing. Sicheng pictures it in his head, the vacant expression Yuta holds when he’s truly nervous or concentrating too hard.

Sicheng clicks on the link, taps his fingers impatiently against the keyboard as he waits.

“Oh, the page loaded,” Sicheng notes, scanning quickly along the page. For a moment there, there’s a bit of excitement, some hope—

_...have been deferred, and your application will be reviewed again during regular admissions..._

“Fuck,” Sicheng says, is thankful he isn’t holding his phone so he can press the heels of his hand onto his eyelids. Regardless, the tears still come.

“Deferred?” Yuta asks. He sounds gentle, almost too gentle, as if afraid Sicheng will shatter into pieces.

“Yeah,” Sicheng says shortly. He always cuts off his vowels when he’s upset, too annoyed at the way he sounds. He’s afraid that if he says anymore, he’ll start crying for real.

This is when Yuta moves into action. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he says, coaxing, encouraging. “Fuck them for not realizing how brilliant you are, huh? And you’ve still got RD, okay, one deferral isn’t a big deal.”

Sicheng wipes his eyes furiously, blinks fast. “That’s—“ he cuts off, realizing how upset he sounds. He takes a deep breath, then another, then another. “That’s awfully easy for you to say,” he says. It still comes out a little bitter, a little emotionally raw. He hates the way he sounds when he’s upset, the way his accent becomes stronger and resists the way he’s contoured and his westernized his vowels for the past five years.

Yuta is silent for a moment. Sicheng hears him about to speak, that intake of air, before he shuts his mouth and reconsiders.

Perfect Yuta, with his glowing athleticism and eloquence, with his debate awards and his soccer trophies. Perfect Yuta, who got in REA to the school he wanted, and had spent all of his senior winter break hanging out with Sicheng instead of slaving over apps.

“Sicheng,” Yuta says. “Sicheng.” He doesn’t say anything else, for a moment or two, just sighs.

“You’re right,” he continues, slowly. Sicheng can almost imagine him choosing his words carefully, eloquently, thinking of how best to explain himself. “It really does feel like a big deal right now, doesn’t it? But I swear that a year from now, it won’t be. A year from now, you’ll be killing it at college regardless of where you end up.”

“Okay,” Sicheng says, a little dubiously. But the sadness is already starting to wear off, replaced by the comfort that always comes from talking to Yuta.

After he hangs up from his phone call with Yuta—which had somehow segued into rhythm games and discussion of the latest anime Yuta wanted to watch—Sicheng checks his phone for notifications. There’s a couple from Jaehyun— _runner dude got into Princeton,_ it reads, _wbu?_ —and an encouraging kaomoji from Jieqiong. Another one from Kun, too, and a couple more texts from his underclassmen asking if he got in, blunt and direct.

Sicheng closes his eyes, allows himself one moment of healthy berating— _of_ course _Jeongguk got into Princeton over you, he can run and he’s smart, of course_ —before pushing the thought out of his mind and continuing to scroll through his phone.

Sicheng sends a sad face to Jaehyun, replies with a _deferred :((((((((_ to Jieqiong. After sending a similar response to Kun, Sicheng shuts his phone off. Chances are, by tomorrow everyone will know he got deferred. Decisions like these always tend to get around—like Jaehyun’s acceptance to Harvard, which Yuta and Kun both knew about within fifteen minutes despite not going to their high school—and it was fine. It'll be fine.

 

When his mom gets back from work, it’s past 9pm. She doesn’t have to say anything—just looks at Sicheng’s face and knows. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmurs, beckoning him into a hug.

It’s been a long time since Sicheng’s hugged his mom. They’re both not really the affectionate type, and his mom is too busy working to spend much time with him nowadays. She’s so small, Sicheng thinks. Her head barely reaches his shoulder; he pats her back delicately, gently, aware of her fragile strength.

At what point did he grow taller than his mother? Sicheng can’t remember, just as he can’t pinpoint all the other changes in his life, from the dropping of his voice to the conflicted way he feels about Yuta to the new-found American accent he has while speaking English. He can only tell things have changed when he notices what has gone, what used to be.

 

He’s sitting at the library with Jieqiong, hurriedly typing up his AP English essay—why the fuck did all of the teachers at his school not realize that seniors had better things to do, like, for instance, working on their college applications—when Yuta sends him a text. Sicheng knows it’s him because he had set up his unique text alert on the phone, claiming that his texts were _more important than anyone else’s, of_ course _Sicheng, isn’t that right?_

Sicheng, at the time, had blushed and grumbled and hadn’t really done anything to protest Yuta’s antics. Now, though, he’s regretting it—one text from Yuta, and his concentration’s shot.

He tries to ignore it, regardless, tensing when his phone beeps again. And again. A kid at the table next to them shoots them a glare then turns back around.

Jieqiong sighs, pushing the phone towards Sicheng. “Answer your goddamn phone,” she says, eyes still focused on her BC Calc homework. She looks up, pencil stopping. He face softens. “It’s Yuta, isn’t it?”

Sicheng grunts in response, trying to focus on the essay as much as possible. He just needs to finish the analysis of this one scene—fucking Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, he thinks bitterly—and then he’ll look. Procrastinating had been a bad idea last weekend, when he had opted to video-call Ten while solving geometry problems instead of doing actual schoolwork.

 **Yuta:** SICHENG

 **Yuta:** S I C H E N G

 **Yuta:** share ur essays w me!!!! i can look over them uwuwuwu

Sicheng’s heart sinks when he looks at the messages. Yuta had been on his case for half of October trying to help Sicheng with his college apps, and Sicheng had refused his help at every turn. After his disappointing deferral, he really can’t refuse any help he can get.

The thing is, Yuta thinks Sicheng is _smart._ Not average-smart, the type to be president of National Honors Society and have straight As on their report card, but genuinely smart, brilliant, a person who can do something worthwhile with their life besides blindly being someone else’s sheep. Yuta knows Sicheng as the math-Sicheng, the dance-Sicheng, the one who researched hyperfields with an MIT professor while still being flexible enough to do a split. He hasn’t read Sicheng’s writing, which is... not the best side of himself, he’ll admit that much.

He weighs it in his head, thinks about it. Why should he let his stupid pride get in the way of actually writing a good essay? But at the same time, he doesn’t know how harshly Yuta will judge him.

Sicheng looks up at Jieqiong, who’s back to focusing on her math homework.

“Should I let Yuta edit my college essays?” Sicheng asks, biting his bottom lip. It starts to bleed, and he licks over the spot, mouth filled with the metallic aftertaste.

Jieqiong narrows her eyes at him. “Of course you should,” she says, perplexed. “He’s an amazing writer, right?”

“Yeah, but...” Sicheng shrugs, avoiding eye contact.  It’s too easy for Jieqiong to intuit what he’s thinking.

“Do it,” Jieqiong urges, patting his shoulder. “I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

When Sicheng gets home, he responds to Yuta’s messages.

 **Sicheng:** sure lol

Before pressing the share button, he scrolls through his essays critically. There’s something there, that disconnect—that awkwardness of having to express yourself in a way that isn’t comfortable, that isn’t natural as a second language—that irks him.

He shares it with Yuta, then holds a breath. Nothing happens, presumably because Yuta has a life, and assignments to complete, and doesn’t check his email or messages 24/7. So Sicheng deletes the tab, goes back to working on his Hamlet/Ros&Guil paper, and doesn’t pay it much mind.

He puts his phone on Do Not Disturb, too, just in case Yuta texts him again.

 

The next morning, Sicheng checks his phone to find a couple texts from Yuta, rubbing the sleep dust out of his eyes as he scrolls through his notifications with his other hand.

 **Yuta:** i read your essays lol

 **Yuta:** theyre pretty good !! but i added a couple comments & suggestions...

 **Yuta:** call me if you get stuck! you can do this!

Sicheng texts back an _ok, thanks_ then opens up the Google Docs app on his phone. He nearly drops his phone at what he sees.

Sicheng: wHAT RHE HELL

Sicheng: why are there so many damn comments

Yuta: it’s not that many...

“Not that many, my ass,” Sicheng mutters. Nearly the entire Google Doc is highlighted in yellow, showing that Yuta commented on that section. He scrolls through the comments— _this sentence could be worded more strongly for a better impact,_ one says; _why are there so many prepositional phrases in one sentence?_ states another—and sighs heavily.

Sicheng glances at the time; he’ll be late for school if he doesn’t eat breakfast within a couple of minutes.

After sprinting to the bus stop, Sicheng sits in the closest open seat he can find, not paying attention to who’s occupying it. He pulls out his phone again, intent on reading through all of Yuta’s comments.

“What, not even a hello?” the boy next to him asks, soft and teasing.

Sicheng nearly drops his phone in surprise. “Oh, Renjun!” he says, shutting his phone off and shoving it into his backpack.

Renjun smiles back at him, obviously still drowsy due to how early it is. Sicheng puts his arm around Renjun’s shoulder, hugs him to his chest.

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” Sicheng sniffs. “You never go on the bus anymore.” Their school is far too large for Sicheng to catch glimpses of his favorite high school freshman during the school day—or maybe he’s just too busy with work, he isn’t sure—and he probably hasn’t seen Renjun since the end-of-summer party Jaehyun’s parents hosted.

Renjun shrugs. “Yeah, well...” he hesitates. “You’re always so busy during the school day, so I don’t try to talk to you then.” He pouts. “You don’t even wave back in the hallway.”

Huh. Sicheng rifles through his mind, trying to recall any time he had glimpsed Renjun in the halls. No specific instance comes to mind, really—Sicheng spends most of the school day absorbed in his own thoughts, whether it's the latest math problem Ten has sent him over Discord or an episode of an anime Yuta recommended.

This school year has been difficult, especially, in terms of keeping in touch with his friends. Too many of them are in college—Yuta, Kun, Ten—where Sicheng can’t see them regularly, and Renjun’s appearance at the high school—when Sicheng would usually feel only converse with him during summer break or holidays—introduces a new expectation to their easygoing friendship as family friends.

“I’m sorry,” Sicheng says sincerely. “I’ve been really focused on apps for the past couple of months.” That’s his default excuse, the one he feels like he uses as a crutch maybe a bit too often, but he needs it.

“It’s okay, gege,” Renjun says. Sicheng’s surprised to hear him address him like that, as a brother—normally they’d do so in private, but Renjun has a complex about speaking Chinese outside of home. It means a lot to him, to hear that from Renjun.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate with college applications,” he adds, as the bus arrives at the high school entrance. “Good luck.”

Once Sicheng steps off the bus, he pulls out his phone again, intent on reading Yuta’s comments thoroughly in the few minutes he has before school starts. After all, Renjun isn’t wrong.

 

He complains about it briefly to Jaehyun during lunch, in between copying off Spanish homework—seriously, why does he have to learn Spanish on top of coping with English as a second language? fuck school—and finishing off the dumplings he packed last night.

"I don't get what the issue is," Jaehyun says idly. He tilts his head, obviously trying to watch Yuju and Seokmin conversing a couple tables away. Sicheng's still not sure which one he has a crush on. "Isn't it good that he cares so much about you?"

Sicheng sighs, frustrated. "I don't know what it is," he says. He twists his fingers together, then twists them apart, agitated. "Something's just pissing me off, and I don't know—" he breaks off. "Whatever, just forget about it."

Jaehyun directs his attention back towards Sicheng, hums thoughtfully. He reaches across the lunch table to squeeze Sicheng's hand briefly. The unexpected warmth of it—the reassurance of it—startles him.

"I know you can get through this," he says earnestly. "You'll get in somewhere, and regardless, you're still..." he purses his lips, as if he's unsure to continue. "You're still a really good friend, and one of the smartest people I know."

Sicheng looks down, surprised. Jaehyun's usually not the type for heartfelt confessions, and much of their friendship consists of playing video games or studying for tests together. They don't have that much in common in terms of activities, either—Jaehyun doesn't even do competitive math seriously, funnels most of his time into Lincoln-Douglas debate the way Yuta had—but somehow it works, the two of them and their personalities.

"Anyways," Jaehyun clears his throat. He's a little embarrassed. "Wanna play surviv? We've only got fifteen minutes left before the period ends."

"Thanks," Sicheng says, looking back up at Jaehyun. They both understand each other better than he thought. "And yeah, of course, let me just get out my mouse."

They spend the rest of the lunch period shooting at 2-d targets, and Sicheng forgets about his worries momentarily.

 

Over the next week and a half, Sicheng slogs through life. He holds a mental countdown of how many days there are before winter break, and sometimes that's the only thing getting him through each day. Seokmin gets into CMU for CS, which Jaehyun's pretty excited about. Sicheng himself gets into one of the public schools he applied to—UC Berkeley—while being deferred— _yield-protected,_ Yuta had insisted—from the other, which gives him some sense of relief.

He also texts Yuta more. He's not sure why—they've never been one for messaging that much during the school year, more keen on playing catch-up every break—but with every bit of stress, every piece of satisfaction he gets out of finishing an essay, he wants to tell Yuta. Maybe it's the way he can imagine Yuta vividly behind the screen of his phone, smiling as he types out words of encouragement or laughing as he teases Sicheng.

Sicheng works steadily on the comments Yuta left, and the days pass quickly. An AP Euro essay, an AP English graded discussion, another AP Physics test—he sits through each assessment, star student Sicheng turned up to the max, then leaves and forgets everything he's learned—and then break begins.

 

Yuta texts him that Friday, a couple hours after school has ended. Sicheng's been lazing around on his bed, too tired to work on college apps or eat or do anything productive. He’s near falling asleep when he hears Yuta’s distinctive text alert—just the sound of it shakes him instantly awake, at least for a second.

Sicheng reaches over to his nightstand, grabs his phone and holds it above his face. With his other hand, he rubs his eyes. Muffling a yawn, he scrolls through his notifications.

 **Yuta:** i'm back!!

 **Yuta:** wanna hang out?

Sicheng sits up in his bed immediately, his phone almost falling out of his grip. His heart races— _why is it racing?—_ as he smiles down at the screen.

Sicheng replies with an i'll _be over in 5,_ then gets out of bed to leave the house. One nice thing about being neighbors with Yuta is that they can see each other in person as soon as possible.

 

Admittedly, being over at Yuta's house isn't exactly a change in activity. After the usual fussing that Yuta's mom puts him through—"Why, you become more handsome each time I see you! Isn't that right, Yuta?" with Yuta egging on his mom, of course, because he's _Yuta—_ Sicheng sits himself on Yuta's bed. He covers a yawn with the palm of his hand.

"Oh, you just finished up your tests, huh?" Yuta asks, sitting next to him. "Maybe I should've waited till tomorrow to hang out, or—"

"No," Sicheng interrupts. Seeing Yuta up close, in person, after four months of phone calls and scrolling through social media is almost too overwhelming. He shuts his eyes, opens them again. Yuta's still there—handsome, smiling, ready to tease Sicheng to no end and help him through his struggles simultaneously. "We can watch that anime you were talking about?"

Yuta nods, looking excited. "Alright, let me get out my laptop," he says. Sicheng watches intently as he looks through websites, choosing where to pirate the episodes from.

When had Yuta become so beautiful? Sicheng wonders. And when had he begun to take notice of that, of the way Yuta's bangs fall into his eyes, the way his smile is so magnetic, his warmth—

"Are you alright?" Yuta asks, leaning in close. Sicheng moves his head back, reflexively, and swallows dryly. "You were zoning out a bit, there." Yuta observes him, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Sicheng says, eyes darting away from Yuta’s face. He tries to focus on an unobtrusive part of Yuta, something innocuous, like his left shoulder. Fuck, his arms are hot, Sicheng thinks. Yuta has a wonderful habit of wearing muscle tees no matter what the season.

"Don't think about apps tonight," Yuta adds, encouraging. He puts his arm around Sicheng's shoulder, pulls him in for a one-armed hug.

Yuta's warm, and he smells like a mixture of detergent and something sweet. It's a scent that Sicheng would probably be able to pick out of a crowd.

"I won't," Sicheng mumbles, leaning into the touch.

Yuta's clingier than usual as they watch the anime, throwing his arm around Sicheng's shoulder and nuzzling close to his side. There's even a point where Yuta starts stroke his arm thoughtlessly, his fingers rubbing up and down—at that point, Sicheng's wondering what the hell Yuta's trying to do, but it's not exactly like he minds—but Sicheng more than tolerates every touch, savors it even.

 

 

Sicheng spends time with Kun during Christmas Eve. They drive to the playground of the local park, trudge through the frost-frozen wood chips and sit on the swings. Sicheng remembers playing as a kid in China—not here, not like this, surrounded by trees and dead grass, but in a country he hasn't stepped a foot in for five years. He can barely recall the surroundings of his early childhood, but he remembers the feeling of playing on the swings, as if he was flying every time he pumped his legs. It's been so long since he had that feeling—like he could conquer the world, like he could make a difference—and Sicheng almost misses it.

"How's it going?" Kun asks, in English. He's glancing up at the sky, not that there's anything to look at; pollution has rendered the evening sky a morose grey-orange.

Sicheng laughs. "I could ask the same to you, Kun ge," he replies in Mandarin. Despite the years, despite the fact that he's got a green card and will be applying for US citizenship soon, speaking in his mother tongue removes a weight he never knew to be there.

“School’s alright,” Kun says, switching to Mandarin as well. The ease of the language seems to lend a straightness to his spine, a confidence to his tone. “There are a lot of general requirements that I had to get out of my way, so I’m a lot more excited for second semester.”

“You’ve made a lot of friends,” Sicheng notes, trying not to feel a little envious. The way he feels while scrolling through Facebook—seeing the college life of the friends he misses, the college acceptances of everyone else he’s acquainted with—makes him hate himself a little bit.

Kun shrugs. “Maybe it seems that way, but I’m not sure,” he says. “I feel like—a lot of people, at my school at least, are much more interested in getting laid than forming actual bonds with people.”

“Damn,” Sicheng says. “That’s difficult.”

Kun observes him for a moment, then looks back up at the sky. "You seem to be alright," he says tentatively. "I mean, since I last spoke to you." The last time they called each other over the phone had been a couple hours before the deadline for Sicheng's early applications, so he doesn't think that says much.

Sicheng shrugs. "Sure," he says. "I’ve been fine. Actually, I... I think I—" he breaks off, stares down at his sneakers. He fascinates himself by kicking around wood chips for a couple moments before continuing. "I think I like Yuta."

Kun inhales sharply, but when Sicheng looks up he doesn't seem all that surprised. "Okay," he nods, fighting back a smile. "That's... that's cute."

"Kun ge," Sicheng whines, laughing despite himself. It's a relief to admit it, at least, almost as if by voicing his feelings, he's making them real for the first time. He kicks his legs out in front of him, tries to pump his legs back and forth futilely; he's too tall.

"What did you expect me to say?" Kun replies, smiling back. He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. "I mean, it's not exactly surprising..."

Sicheng keeps laughing. "I guess it isn't," he admits. It's starting to get colder; his breath comes out in puffs when he talks, but he still feels warm and energetic with Kun beside him. "But it still surprised me."

They spend the rest of the evening catching up until they can no longer stand the cold, laughing and talking in a place that reminds them of being young.

 

Most of the winter break isn't that fun, though. Jaehyun convinces him to go out to grab dinner with him, Seokmin, and Yuju—Sicheng never knew it was possible to be a fourth wheel until he sat through _that_ —and Jieqiong drops by to bake cookies with him, but mostly Sicheng's cooped up in his room, working on his application. Yuta's texts of encouragement are a warm comfort, even as they distract Sicheng, so he compromises by putting his phone on Do Not Disturb yet checking it every hour or so—but he doesn't try to meet up with Yuta again either.

He video-calls Ten, though, because Ten's across the country at UCLA and isn't coming back for break. Ten reminds him of dance, is able to bring a smile to his face with only a minute or two of teasing.

Sicheng hasn't danced for a while, not since he recorded the video of himself for a supplement—the practices are too time-consuming while he's going through his apps, so all of the seniors at the studio return after January 1st. He misses it, misses the feeling of pushing himself to the limit and expressing himself; maybe that's why he's been feeling kind of off this past couple of weeks.

His mom leaves him alone, too, mostly. Sicheng's used to her late hours, becomes accustomed to the cold emptiness of his house as he rereads over every carefully phrased sentence of his applications, scouring for mistakes.

Every additional essay, every research supplement, the video Sicheng's prepared of his traditional Chinese dance—he can't help that he's just trying to frame his personality, his _life_ in the most appealing way possible, and that no matter what, it won't be enough.

 

Sicheng gets a glorious reprieve on New Year's Eve, though. The Huang's always host the new year's party with all of the Asian families in the neighborhood invited. There's a couple of kids from school—Jaehyun, of course, and Lucas and Mark—along with the loud freshmen from Renjun's grade. There's also a lot of Sicheng's upperclassmen returning home from college: Taeyong, Doyoung, and Ten are the ones he knows the best, besides Yuta and Kun.

They settle in the basement of Renjun's house, as per tradition. Yerim and her friends have always preferred to hang out upstairs in the guest bedroom, while the adults reign over the ground floor, supervising food and drinks.

"Let's play cards," Doyoung suggests, pulling out a deck. Sicheng's pretty sure Doyoung walks around everywhere with one.

"BS?" Someone suggests. The high school freshmen have already left the conversation, more interested in table tennis—Sicheng vaguely registers Donghyuck yelling with excitement as he takes out ping-pong paddles—and Lucas and Mark are in a world of their own, sharing headphones and bobbing their heads to the beat of what Sicheng guesses is 21 Savage.

That leaves the seven of them. Sicheng shrugs. "We have enough to play fish, if we have one team of two," he suggests.

Kun smiles, then whispers something in Doyoung's ear.

"Ah, I have an idea," Doyoung says, smirking at Sicheng before turning to face Yuta. "Yuta, be partners with Sicheng, so we have six players for fish."

Oh, fuck.

Jaehyun nods, looking confused. Taeyong opens his mouth to protest before Kun elbows him quickly in the side, ushering him to stay silent.

Yuta's even more perplexed, only getting up to move next to Sicheng when Doyoung gives him a sharp shove. The thing is, among their circle of friends, Yuta and Sicheng are both equally skilled at fish—Yuta, through sheer psychological manipulation, and Sicheng through card counting—and it makes approximately no sense to make the two strongest players share a hand.

Sicheng knows exactly what Kun’s intent was, though. It isn’t as if he minds.

The game is exhilarating. Sicheng loves fish, and the presence of Yuta close by—leaning into his personal space, voice low in his ear as he discusses strategies, hand curling around his shoulder—brings newfound excitement to an old pastime.

“We declare the low hearts,” Yuta announces with a smile. “I have the two and the four, Doyoung has the six, and Taeyong has the rest.” By the end of it, Yuta and Sicheng's team have called in eight out of the nine half suits; they’re winning by a landslide.

"What the hell," Jaehyun sighs. He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "How is this possible? You guys fleeced me out of five cards in a row.”

Sicheng looks at Yuta, then shrugs, smiling. “I don’t know,” he says. He’s only looking at Yuta. “It just is.”

 

It’s a couple minutes from midnight when they’re crowded into the Huang’s living room, watching the TV because the countdown will start soon. Sicheng feels almost stifled by the lack of personal space; it’s hard to breathe.

He tugs on Yuta’s wrist. “It’s too crowded,” Sicheng whispers into his ear. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

They step outside, sneakers thrown on haphazardly. The Huang’s driveway has a couple cracks in it, and Sicheng traces over the path with his feet.

“Watch your step,” Yuta says. “There’s some black ice.” He’s always been looking out for Sicheng, from little moments such as these to bigger things like college applications.

It should feel cold, freezing even, but he doesn’t feel it at all. The warm of the party, of reuniting with the friend and family he’s missed, of being with Yuta—it protects him from every chill.

“It doesn’t feel that cold, does it?” Yuta says, thoughtful. He kicks a pebble away, then another, perfect soccer technique for a tiny rock.

Sicheng smiles at the sight, steps towards him.

“Yuta,” Sicheng says softly. He holds onto Yuta’s shoulder, slides his hand down to meet Yuta’s palm, intertwines their fingers. “Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year,” Yuta echoes. He isn’t shocked, isn’t surprised, just—happy as he grins up at Sicheng.

“I hope—“ he hesitates, before looking at Yuta again. “I hope you like this.”

Sicheng leans forward to seal their mouths in a kiss. It’s awkward, barely a touching of mouths—he isn’t even sure if Yuta’s kissing him back—before they break apart.

Sicheng blushes, embarrassed.

Yuta smiles at him, leans in so that their foreheads press together. He’s so close that Sicheng can make out the individual eyelashes framing his eyes. He’s beautiful.

“Let’s try that again,” Yuta murmurs, one hand reaching up to cup Sicheng’s face. The other rests lazily on his waist, pulling him in.

This time, when they kiss, it feels right.

 

January 1st is the official deadline for all of his applications. Sicheng proofreads through them one last time, makes his mom double check for good measure, before clicking submit.

“How does it feel?” Yuta asks, over the phone. Sicheng can hear the crunch of his shoes over dead grass as he makes his way over to Sicheng’s house. “To be finally done with college apps?”

Sicheng sighs. “It feels pretty damn good,” he admits.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! [twt](http://twitter.com/mathmxrk) / [cc](http://curiouscat.me/mathmxrk) / feel free to leave concrit [here](https://markohmark.dreamwidth.org/2671.html)
> 
> feel free to guess where sicheng or yuta go to college or let me know what you thought of the fic ;;
> 
> clarification: fish refers to Canadian Fish, which is a 6-player card game a lot of math people play, surviv is surviv.io lol


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